Chapter Eight
"The Lengths We Go For Love"
Rodger had a space in his schedule, so Mr. Whittington and his intrepid reporter pal headed to the prison for a further continuation of the story.
"I didn't forget your request," Mr. Whittington told Mr. De Rossi pleasantly upon greeting him. "I gave Miss Fleck a big hug."
"Ah!" the prisoner cried. "I thought you would have forgotten. Thank you. Tell me about it."
Rodger sat down and dug out his pad, looking a bit bemused but otherwise holding his tongue.
"Well," Mr. Whittington replied, "She apparently loves hugs, because she doesn't shrink away. She hugs you right back and stays there for a while. I'm a bit taller than her, so she sort of burrowed into my jacket. She's cute. When she's all cleaned up there's this flowery powder smell about her, in her hair and on her skin. When she's a little fatter, she'll be softer. Right now you can feel her thinness."
"The flowery powder smell," Mr. De Rossi murmured happily, eyes closed in deep imagination. "I used to call it that, too. So she hasn't lost it. That makes me so happy. I can't wait to hug her again. But we've only got an hour, and I'd better get going with this story of mine. Update me."
Once updated, he dove right in.
(Gangle picks up the story.)
It had been my very first day of "investigating" with Ariel. I took off my drawers and jumped into bed. I turned off the lamp. I cocooned myself in quilts, and after I found a warm, comfortable position, I relaxed, and the eternal question popped up in my mind.
What the hell are you doing, De Rossi?
It was truly mind-blowing. Somehow, someway, Ariel had convinced me to join her on a Sherlock Holmes style investigation to figure out Mr. Y's identity, against all my reason, all my doubts, and all my protestations. I lay there in the dark, seeing the masked face of my boss in my imagination. I remembered the way the scattered light, streaming in through a crack in the deck, gave him that hunted, desperate look, that first day we'd met, on a ship bound for Ellis Island. He had the eyes of a frightened snake; they darted and stared and gleamed, warning anyone who caught his gaze that he could-and would-exact whatever force necessary to preserve his life. Madame Giry and little Meg, huddled deep in their coats, had the grim, nervous faces of potential prey.
"Friend," I still hear his voice, smooth and sharp as a razor, "I'll help you into America if you help me. Stay with me, and I promise you will speak again." His eyes darted. "I got into some trouble in France."
I wrote on a newspaper that I had gotten into some trouble in Italy.
"You will help me then?" It was a question, but as he said it, his hand snuck towards his pocket as though he might pull out a gun and kill me if I refused. It was clear to me that this was a thinly-disguised command.
I nodded. He smiled. Madame Giry and Meg looked at each other, and then away.
This is insane, pal! You can't meddle in this man's affairs! You've got to back out! Ariel doesn't know Mr. Y like you do!
My mind was as rational as ever, but my heart would not stop contradicting it. Yes, yes, we were treading on very unsafe territory, Ariel and I. All she knew of Mr. Y were his fanciful sketches and music. Only recently was she discovering the vaguest hint of his dark side. Nevertheless, I saw the wild longing in her eyes whenever he came near, heard the pain in her voice whenever she discussed the bidding, saw the delicious, obscene way her body quivered whenever she heard him play the piano. Would the idea of danger frighten her or make her even more intrigued?
I could not let her pursue him alone, even if it did torment me. Yes, there was a real element of interest and excitement in trying to uncover Mr. Y's mysteries, and I did enjoy using my head and having real comradeship with my beloved Ariel, but what if this led to consequences that neither of us could foresee? Why, just the other day, I discovered the man kept a loaded gun in the Ayrie. What else was he hiding?
I saw only one fringe benefit in this whole thing, and it was this: perhaps, if we discovered something unsavory about Mr. Y, Ariel would quit mooning after him, paving the way clear for me...another unsavory man.
That made my eyes tear up a bit. I put my head in the pillow. Here, I was, going on about Mr. Y's potentially dark past and misdeeds, when my own past was loaded with all manner of evil. I did more than have sex with a lot of women, let me make that abundantly clear. Even that fact would destroy my reputation. Aggie-Ann would faint. Genevieve would call up her suffragette friends and publically stone me. "Victorian-wedding-night-virgin" Alf would declare me contemptible (the next step lower than unreasonable), and Ariel would never look at me again. And that was only one aspect of my wickedness!
I faced my resolution to become a new man with even more vigor than ever. Oh, Ariel! If you only knew what you do to me, the lengths I go for your love.
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Monday morning was blisteringly hot, and judging by the mystified exclamations of my fellow men-freaks as we went for the costumes, I wasn't alone in my feelings. The very sight of my black gabardine frock coat and suit with its long sleeves and lining made my skin burn.
"I think it's clear to me, as it oughta to be to anyone else," panted a damp-looking Damien, "That today we wear our lighter costumes. Genevieve tells me that's what she and the lady-freaks are doing. If Mr. Y don't like it, he can come down outta the Ayrie and tell me about it."
There was a moan of agreement. Jackets and gloves went aside, and we all dug out the lighter costumes, the gothic, oriental-looking robes designed to be worn on very hot days. The mirror was soon filled with all of our ugly, sweaty heads, bobbing around like red balloons.
"Look at us!" guffawed Mr. Geddes in his tiny robe. "We look like we're on our way to a goddamned Chinese slumber party!"
I almost smeared my make-up laughing with everyone.
"Well, don't we?" the midget roared, looking at his reflection. "Pass the damn egg-foo-yong!"
Then the door opened, and Alf dragged himself in. That meant the "goddamning" had to stop. However, by the looks of him, I don't think he would have cared. He looked like he'd just escaped from a frying pan.
"Summer costumes today, Fleck!" Tom informed him as he polished his lip piercings. "Never mind about the usual jacket!"
Alf's red, sweaty head nodded silently.
"Feelin' better?" Damien asked. "You'd think you were dying, the way Edna was carrying on. Genny, too, she never shuts up about anything." He drew in his chin, fluffed himself up, and did a cruel but perfect imitation of his sister. "Oh Damien, I do declare you are the most unfeeling man I have seen yet! How we are related I shall never know!"
That was funny.
"I'm feeling fine," Alf grunted, reaching for the black eye-gunk. He looked beat. "I got a very long night of sleep."
You'd never know it by looking at him. Anyhow, we finished up dressing and headed down to eat and start a new day, determined to defeat the excruciating heat somehow. All of Phantasma seemed to shimmer and dance in the sun, distorted by the vibrating pockets of hot air. It looked like there were puddles everywhere, but that was an illusion, like those stories where he hero is lost in the desert.
"Daddy! Gangle!" came Ariel's voice, and there she was with the ladies, trekking close behind. If I were lost in a desert, I'd be glad to see a sight like that. She ran up to us, looking hot and stunning in her kimono. It had a beautiful silken peacock design, and it hugged her curvy little body, with its warm, moist skin so deliciously. If you looked closely (and I was) at where the silk was drawn tight across her lap, you could see the buttons on her garter belt.
"Hey!" snapped Dr. Gangle in my mind. "Don't stare at her legs like that! That's rude!"
"Rude yourself!" sneered another voice, and I realized it was the little spirit of who I didn't want to be: Gregory De Rossi. "Can't even see her legs! What's the harm?"
There they were: Dr. Gangle and Mr. De Rossi, like a little angel and a little devil, fighting on my shoulder.
"What's the harm? It's not good to dwell on Ariel in such a lustful way! It's not taking her into consideration."
"Oh, you. Like she can even tell."
At this, Dr. Gangle asserted his most commanding tone. "Why don't you say good morning to her instead? Also, you should make it your business to keep her feeling comfortable in today's heat."
"Good morning, Signorina!" I greeted her politely in obedience to Dr. Gangle. "Hot today, is it not?"
"Sure is," she said distractedly, hurrying over to Alf's side. "Feeling okay, Daddy?"
The moment we got into breakfast, she insisted on giving him the coldest juice and the heartiest strips of bacon. Around the table she went like a busy little geisha, piling his plate with the choice bits from everything set out. She even cut his meat for him.
"There we are, Daddy," she cooed. "Gobble it all up!"
So absorbed was she in her self-imposed motherly duties that she scarcely ate anything herself and didn't talk to anyone. Alf obediently ate and drank. He looked tired but he smiled at his daughter's heartwarming concern for his welfare. When the meal was over and we had to report up to the Ayrie, he accepted her offer of a helping hand and gave her a kiss on the cheek.
Up and up we went, round and round, up those dark spiraling stairs to the Ayrie.
"Not getting tired, Daddy?" she asked, and the echo made it seem as though the place were filled with nervous Ariel-ghosts, ready to jump out with vials of spirits.
Alf's voice had the faintest hint of a chuckle. "Not since five minutes ago, Baby Fleck. I'll live to see another day, don't worry."
The Ayrie was nice and cool. When we pushed upon the door, we stood in the doorway, sighing in delight as the rose-scented, refreshing breeze rolled over us. Mr. Y, who had turned from his piano, gave a brief chuckle of amusement.
"The weather must be just as brutal as the thermometer tells me," he deduced aloud, extending our schedules to us. "Have any of you seen Madame Giry today?"
We hadn't.
"Ah. No matter. I can just as well see her later. I'm in a regular Battle Royale with this Hammerstein fellow, but I believe this next telegram of mine will set him straight."
The Christine Daae automaton was covered up, but Ariel looked over at it anyway, her face suddenly drooping in sudden, intense misery. "Set him straight?" she asked feebly.
"Yes," declared Mr. Y, standing tall and proud, as though he had already won. His eyes twinkled. "The highest bidder wins, and unless Mr. Hammerstein happens to be related to God, I've essentially got Ms. Daae booked. It just isn't in ink yet."
"Congratulations, Mr. Y," said Alf like a true tattooed gentleman.
"Yes, congratulations, indeed," I chipped in.
Ariel's eyes closed. "You must be very happy," she mumbled.
On the way back down the Ayrie steps, I watched her stricken, lovelorn face, and a terrible pain gnawed at my heart. She loved him. She wouldn't admit it to me, or anyone else, but I could tell. I knew it ever since we had coffee together after our library visit; the way she dodged my prying, the tell-tale hesitation, it all became so obvious. She really loved Mr. Y. I may have been the Watson to her Sherlock, but you don't see the two of them strolling through flower fields hand in hand, do you?
Little did I know that my day was about to get a whole lot worse.
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Alf went on as planned, despite the heat, in a tented area where the patrons could get out of the blazing sun. The man had established quite a reputation as "The Mighty Mr. Squelch", many admirers, many fans, but not many friends. Today he stood, surrounded by engines, dumbells, avils, and all manner of heavy things, looking anything but approachable: his usual scary appearance was made scarier by the way the heat was reddening his skin and giving him the aura of a breathless, angry bull, raring to charge. Add that to the tattoos, the dark clothes, and the sober silence, and ol' Alf looked ready to bash someone's skull in. The patrons kept a cautious distance, not wanting it to be their own. I reassured everybody that he wasn't mean, but they kept their places, heads shaking.
I found it darkly funny how severely Alf was misjudged. They couldn't know that a half century of being a caged laughingstock had made him so quiet and unsociable. They couldn't know that he'd been tattooed to increase his marketability in the freakshow world, and not to be rebellious or bad. They certainly couldn't see the carefully-preserved photographs of the wife he had so loved, and the way he worried over his daughter. They could, however, see a tattooed, grim, distant-looking strongman, and it was upon this appearance that their minds were fixed. "The Mighty Mr. Squelch" was just terrifying.
Away Alf went, hefting avils and sledgehammers like twigs while men whistled and ladies giggled nervously, and when he was finished at last, he approached me. It was lunchtime, and the two of us always went to fetch Ariel from her Aviary. Oh, I never mentioned that?
Well, as part of her "Miss Fleck" persona, Ariel had her very own Aviary, a quaint little room filled with exotic birds: parrots, doves, macaws, larks, nightingales, and a great many peacocks. In her feather-lined dress, Peacock Queen Ariel sat on a lovely throne, where she was pleased to take pictures with patrons and show them her fine-feathered subjects. The birds were completely at ease with her. They treated her just like one of them. They sat on her, climbed on her, pooped on her, accepted seed from her hand, and seemed to really love preening her "feathers". In return, Ariel was as affectionate as a mother, giving them names and chirping at them.
"Lunchtime, Signorina!" I greeted her, but before she could do anything, this big peacock called "Charles" (named by Ariel) got right up in my face, jealousy burning in his back beady eyes. He stretched his beak wide and squawked, spreading his impressive fan of tailfeathers as arrogantly as he could muster. The curious blue ovals in the green, stringy feathers were like dozens of angry eyes glaring me down. There he was, the self-proclaimed King of the Peacocks, standing his ground on his skinny bird legs, stalwartly shielding me from his beloved Queen Ariel, who was dying with laughter on her throne.
The patrons thought this little confrontation was hysterical and laughed right along with her. But to Charles, this was no laughing matter. He loved Ariel. Whether it was the peacock feathers on her dress or her natural ability to attract men of all species is uncertain, but whatever it was, Ariel had Charles at hello. I actually witnessed the bird trying to woo her with a mating call one day, making a sound like a meowing cat, his raised tailfeathers quivering amorously. She had stroked his head and kissed him, which, I guess, was as good as a marriage vow to Charles, for now he hated me. Every day I came and took his Queen away to lunch, and every day he acted like he was going to take me down a few notches. I made sure my crotch was out of his beak-thrusting range.
"It's a regular love-triangle, folks!" Alf joked, winking at the crowd.
Ariel blushed.
"Charles!" she cried as sweetly as she could, and when the irate peacock looked at her, she crooked her finger. Like a little gentleman, Charles folded away his tailfeathers and went bobbing onto her lap. She set him on her throne.
"You've got to keep the throne warm, King Charles," she said, nuzzling his beak in a way that made me wish I were a peacock. "I'll be back. I always am."
And so it was that Alf and I were able to take Ariel to lunch, although Charles gave me a rather mean look on the way out.
This is where my day starts to get worse, by the way.
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We were helping ourselves to cucumber salad and sandwiches when Damien decided to ask the question, right out of the blue. Couldn't have been at a more random moment. I was searching for provolone to pair with my prosciutto when he said my name, a bit hesitantly.
"Ah, hey. De Rossi."
I located the cheese and put it on my sandwich. "Yes?"
He took a breath, gave Genevieve a quick look, and then said, "I've got a question for ya."
"What?"
"Your voice." He looked down as though as needed to re-phrase it, then went on, boldly, "Mr. Y told us that your vocal cords got cut. I'd like to know how and by whom."
The whole table got quiet. I felt my innards twist hotly. A sudden vision of leering faces and the shrill scraping of knives flashed across my mind's eye.
Ariel jumped right on him. "Why, Mr. Pennysworth!" she scolded. "You know he doesn't like questions like that. And at the table!"
"Indeed!" Alf added, indignation stamped across his tattoos. "I don't see how it's your business."
Damien opened his scarred mouth to defend himself, but Genevieve was quicker.
"Well, by gosh and by golly!" she growled, and everyone braced themselves for an episode. "It was only a question; he needn't answer. But I declare! It's such a strange thing, and I think we're owed some form of explanation, don't you?"
"If we get any explanation, ma'am-" Alf said the word with more than a little sarcasm-"It'll be on his terms, and not yours. He doesn't owe you a bent nickel."
As all this animosity brewed, Dr. Gangle and Mr. De Rossi were at war within me.
"You know," Dr. Gangle said, "You really ought to confess. If you're ever looking to get anywhere with Ariel, it wouldn't do to have this great dark secret looming over the whole thing. It's for the better."
"No!" cried Mr. De Rossi. "She'll be disgusted. Why does she need to know? She'll never know you were lying!"
In that moment, I made a hasty decision and waved my hands for silence.
"Please!" I cried. "Please, no arguing." My heart fluttered nervously at what I was going to say. "I will tell what happened to me."
The Pennysworth/Fleck battle came to a screeching halt, as did basically all of the table's conversations. A bunch of wide-eyed, interested faces turned my way. Ariel grabbed my hand as though she were going to protest.
"Er, really, De Rossi?" Damien gasped, surprised. "Well, ah, only if you really want to..."
I said that I did, steadying myself, Ariel's hand still in mine. It was as true as ever: Oh, the lengths we go for love!
"Here is what happened," I said, and it was as though I were opening a terrible time capsule. "My Mama died when I was a young man, and my brother and I lost the restaurant we owned. We fell on hard times, money-wise. Very hard times. I was always an unhappy young man, not very nice to know..."
Here came the bad things I was afraid to say. Ariel squeezed my hand harder and put her other hand on top of it, as if she knew.
"So when Mama died, I became even angrier, and when me and my brother started running out of money, I started doing all sorts of bad things to get it. I did bad things for other people so they would pay me, and eventually..." Here it came-"I joined the Mafia."
A chorus of amazed gasps and cries rang out all around.
"The Mafia?" stammered Mr. Geddes. "As in the Italian men doing bad things Mafia?"
I nodded sadly, feeling my courage sapping away. Perhaps I would lie a little. Ariel still had my hand.
"Well, go on!" cried Genevieve impatiently. "What happened next?"
"Next," I continued, "I started doing crimes with the Mafia behind me..."
Damien interrupted. "You ever kill anyone?"
"Shut up, stupid!" hissed his sister, smacking him. "Go on, Mr. De Rossi, ignore him."
"I didn't kill anyone," I said. "But I still committed lots of crimes." Here I decided to start bending the truth around. "But one day it really dawned on me that I was a bad man, and so I decided to turn my fellow mafiosos in, anonymously to the police. It worked, and a lot of them got arrested. But even though I was anonymous, the others found out, somehow..."
My listeners already seemed to anticipate where I was going with this, but I went on.
"I had already found a place to hide, but they all came together one night. I don't know how they found me, but they did. Lots of them came, so I couldn't escape, and they wrestled me down and put a gag in my mouth-" At this point, Ariel whimpered and squeezed my hand-"And then they took some chloroform and their knives, and they..."
I couldn't say it, so I simply pointed to the scarring on my throat. Everyone at the table moaned and gasped, touching their own throats, their eyes filled with fear.
"A day has not gone by," I confessed truthfully, "That I do not remember and truly regret it all."
"Oh!" cried Ariel as if she couldn't bear it anymore, and she hugged me. "Oh, that's horrible!"
"Mah Lawd!" gasped Aggie while Ann cringed.
"I'm real sorry to hear about it, De Rossi," growled Alf in stoic compassion.
"No kidding," marveled Damien, but he and Genevieve both looked rather ashamed. "Say, De Rossi, don't think on it too hard, will ya? Er, forgive me."
"Me as well," Genevieve added with an uncharacteristic meekness. "I feel perfectly beastly."
My mind was still reeling at my own audacity. I had confessed. My chest felt like a weight had been lifted off it.
"Please, don't worry," I told them, and then, in a moment of true levity, I pointed to my voice trumpet. "I beat those bastards in the end!"
Ariel burst out laughing, followed by the whole table. I laughed too. Deep inside, however, I knew that I had not spoken the whole truth.
"Well, you sort of confessed," admitted Dr. Gangle. "But what if folks found out you lied in the future?"
"How would they ever find out?" Mr. De Rossi snorted. "They're not mind-readers. And just look at how they lapped up your explanation just now. Just forget about it."
The lunch continued more animatedly then before, as everyone started up their own giddy little discourses on crime and punishment, as well as redemption, caressing their throats gratefully.
Ariel opened her mouth to say something, but Aggie-Ann approached me and cut her off. "Er, Mr. De Rossi?" Ann ventured. "Yer sorry fer all the bad things ya did, ain'tcha? You repented?"
I assured them that I had, and I silently chuckled over the fact that I had not heard the word repent in years.
"Well, awright," the other said. "Jus' makin' shore! A man's gotta repent o' his sins if he's got plans t' go to Heav'n!"
Ann nodded seriously in agreement. I felt a tug at my sleeve.
"That is very true. Thank you for your concern," I told them politely. "But there's no need to worry about me. I repented long ago."
Satisfied, Aggie-Ann went back to her seat.
"Ah, what did you want to tell me, Signorina?" I asked Ariel, but she was looking over my shoulder in white-faced concern. I suddenly realized that Alf was clutching at my sleeve, and when I looked at him I was startled too. He looked terrible. He was bent forward like a big fist was crushing him. He stared at me desperately but was unable to make a sound, not even a cough.
"Alf!" I cried. "You okay?"
Ariel grabbed his hand. "Daddy? What's wrong?"
By now the rest of the table was noticing.
"Hey, is he alright...?" asked Damien. "Geddes! Pass the man some water..."
But before anyone could do anything, Alf's grip loosened and he slumped with a crash onto the ground, unconscious, where his whole body began to violently shake.
"Daddy!" shrieked Ariel, dropping to her knees beside him. "Daddy! Somebody help him! Daddy!"
Everyone leapt to their feet, yelling and panicking, and before long the whole dining tent was involved. Tom and Damien dipped their napkins in their water and tried to bring Alf around, but it was useless. He did not seem to hear anything. People went running for the doctor. I got on my knees and tried to steady the man, but I was so frightened I couldn't think straight, and he shook on, so hard that he was drooling and pissing all over himself and turning blue around the lips. I felt helpless. I seriously thought that the man was going to die, right in front of me.
Aggie-Ann started praying aloud. "Jees' Christ, take it away from him! Help him, Good Lawd!"
"Keep him on his side!" a voice shouted, and Phantasma's doctor, Doctor Lawrence, appeared on the scene. "Get a jacket or something, put it under his head!"
We used my frock coat. Over to the side, Genevieve and Mrs. Beardsley were trying to calm Ariel, who was hysterical. Her screams were horrible, primal sounds of fear without words that made the sight of Alf convulsing in his own spit and urine doubly nauseating.
The doctor knelt beside Alf and watched him. "It's a seizure," he told us. "Give him space. Everybody back up! I'm a doctor!"
And so the crowd was forced back, and after another awful minute or so, Alf suddenly stopped shaking and was still. He took a breath and opened his eyes slowly, feeling around, slowly becoming aware of his surroundings again. Ariel sniffed and whimpered.
"Sir?" the doctor asked. "Do you understand me?"
Alf mumbled. He looked like a big, confused infant. A few people helped him sit up and wiped his mouth, and Ariel went running to his side, followed by Mrs. Beardsley. Della and Genevieve went to Damien, who patted their backs. I felt miserably useless.
"Daddy," Ariel cried hoarsely, her eyes swollen. "It's me, Ariel. Oh, Daddy!"
"Alfred, dear," moaned Mrs. Beardsley.
The light of understanding seemed to suddenly illuminate Alf's eyes. Slowly, he looked around, and then he took a deep breath and sat up on his own. He looked up at the table and realized that he was on the ground, surrounded by people.
"Ariel?" he asked, feebly.
"Here, Daddy," she replied hoarsely, kissing his head. "It's alright, Daddy. You're better now."
He looked at her, at me, and at the doctor, his brow furrowed. "What... happened?"
When Doctor Lawrence explained that he'd had a seizure, he stared at him and then at me, not seeming to believe it.
"It's true, Alf," I said. "Remember what happened before? You grabbed my sleeve and tried to tell me something, but then you passed out, and this happened. I thought you were dying."
"I don't remember," he murmured, his face troubled. "I remember my juice, and...I don't remember any more. But, but... if I really had a seizure, why would it happen? I haven't-" All of a sudden he seemed to panic, almost in shame, and murmured-"I haven't had this happen in years."
Ariel kept hugging him, but she sat up, confused by this last statement.
"So you've had seizures before?" asked the doctor.
Alf closed his eyes. "I had them all the time as a child," he admitted, "And also as a young man. Big ones sometimes, and little ones the most. They didn't happen so much when I got older. I thought I outgrew them. It's been more than fifteen years since this happened. Was this...really a big one?"
We all assured him, most confidently, that it certainly had been a big one, and he bowed his head in unhappiness. All at once he seemed to become truly aware of the spectacle he had caused and how upset everyone (especially Ariel) had become. He also noticed the embarrassing mess he made.
"Oh, for Pete's sake," he groaned softly, cheeks reddening as he became aware of that last fact. "All over the place."
I quickly gave him my frock coat to disguise this fact, and the doctor insisted on geting him to bed and cleaned up. He sent Damien to tell Mr. Y. Mrs. Beardsley, along with me and Ariel, took the poor man back to Fleck Manor.
"I'll stay with Mr. Fleck here," said Doctor Lawrence after the patient was cleaned up and settled. "But there's no need to worry. Since he has a history of this happening, it is a lot less dangerous, although it is strange to have such a gap in seizures. I'll need to speak with your employer, though, and tonight I'd like to teach you, Miss Fleck, what to do if this should happen again when I'm not around. Until then, you all should get on with your schedules. Your lunch hour is just about coming to a close."
I hadn't even thought of the schedule once. This whole incident had completely thrown me off. I dug out my pocket-watch, which informed me that lunch was over in five minutes.
"It's alright, Doctor," Ariel said stoutly, sitting beside Alf. "I'll help you take care of Daddy."
Alf shook his head. "You're a good girl, Ariel, but no. There's no need for you to mess up your schedule. Trust me, I've had this happen before. It's just the mind losing control of itself, not dying. I'll be fine."
Far from being comforted, Ariel's face darkened in such fury as I had never seen her display towards her father.
"Well!" she suddenly exploded, eyes flashing, "That's a relief! It's so dandy to learn of this now, after I've had the Everlasting scared out of me! Goodness gracious! To see you so sick like that! As though you were going to die! Why, I...!" She spent a hot moment glaring at Alf's stricken, sad face, and then dropped weeping into a chair, her nerves shot.
"Ariel!" the poor father moaned in distress, sitting up and going over to her. "Ariel, please don't take it like this. I didn't mean for this to happen."
"You keep secrets from me," she wept on. "Just like I'm a child. It's so selfish of you. What else are you keeping from me?"
His tattooed face drooped and looked very sad. Doctor Lawrence and I just sort of stood there, helplessly looking at each other, wondering what to do.
"Er, Doctor? Mr. De Rossi?" Alf said weakly. "Please, could you step outside for a while? I need to have a discussion with Ariel."
I had to get back to my job anyway, so I headed out, but as I walked along I felt mentally exhausted. What a day. A confession of the past, Alf having a seizure, and I didn't even know how Ariel felt about what little I revealed of my past.
Half-way past the Grand Pavillions, I caught sight of Damien leading Mr. Y through the blistering heat, their jackets thrown over their shoulders. I decided I'd better tell them Alf was okay.
"Ah, Dr. Gangle!" said Mr. Y when I approached him. "How is Mr. Fleck? I'm on my way to see him. I understand he had a seizure?"
I told him all about it, and off he went. As for me, I had a day to see through to completion, tired as I was, and it would be a couple hours before I could think it out under the stars.
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When night rolled in, the heat rolled out, and it was as if a curtain fell on a hot, sticky Act One of Gangle's Very Stressful Day. Hopefully Act Two: Gangle's Night, would be better. I collapsed on the cool boards of the welcoming bench and turned my gaze upwards. There they were again: the stars, my ever constant friends. They had followed me all the way from Italy. It occurred to me that the whole world could look up together and admire them together; we could be refreshed as one. I closed my eyes and forced the tension out. I filled my whole mind with nothing but stars, until the blank darkness of my mind was like a small starry sky, calm and gentle.
Ariel's voice was low when it invaded upon my starry sky. "Gangle," she murmured quietly. "You're not sleeping?"
I opened my eyes. The sight of her against the backdrop of the heavens was balm to my soul.
"No, Signorina," I replied. "Just waiting for you. Sit down. Tell me about your father."
She sat down and laid her head on my shoulder, looking just as mentally exhausted as I had been before the stars brought me back to a calm state of mind. I hugged her to let her know she was welcome. Her head sank deeper and became less tense. She had this beautiful smell, like flowery powder or something.
"Daddy," she mumbled into my neck, "Has a seizure disorder. His Uncle Ivan had it too. It seems to run in the Fleck family. That's what we talked about when he sent you and Doctor Lawrence out."
"Why did he never tell you?"
"Well, it wasn't all because of pride and sparing me the truth," she said, regret in her eyes. "I really shouldn't have yelled at him. He was also scared to tell. You see, Uncle Ivan had it bad, and back in the 1830s people thought it was a form of insanity, so they shut him in a lunatic asylum, and he died. Daddy told me that Grandpa would get so sad whenever he talked about his older brother Ivan. They loved each other."
That made me sad.
"And when Grandpa realized that Daddy had it too, he was so scared that he tried to make it a big secret. Whenever Daddy would have a seizure, he'd either hide him or shut him in a room or tell people he was faking it. Anything but tell them the truth, because he was afraid they'd make him put Daddy in an asylum too."
"Did any of his brothers have it?"
"No. Only him. It always embarrassed him so much, and it made everyone afraid of him. They thought he was contagious. He wouldn't go anywhere or do anything; his brothers would do things for him. He just liked to read by himself. The last time he had one of these gigantic ones was when I was very little. He's had lots of tiny ones since then, but it's hard to notice them. He never told me because he didn't want to upset me." With that, her report was through, and she slumped deeper onto my shoulder.
The mental image of a young Alf, spine twisted, being hidden in a back room to shake and convulse alone made me feel horrible. A lot of things about the man's personality suddenly made sense.
"I feel bad about all this, Signorina," I said. "There isn't anything I can do to help him, is there?"
She sat up. "Well, there are some first aid things you can know, just in case Daddy has a fit near you. Doctor Lawrence told me and Mr. Y all about it."
She explained that it was important to make sure he was on his side so he didn't choke on his spit or something, and never to put anything in his mouth, and to make certain he was away from anything he could hit. Other than that, there wasn't much one could do, except to let nature run its course.
"Mr. Y was very nice," Ariel said, smiling as though she could see him. "He's giving Daddy the whole rest of the week off if he wants to take it. Oh, and he liked your roses, by the way."
That threw me off. "My roses?"
In the dark, her green eyes were sparkly with amusement. "The ones you gave me for my birthday, you dope. You've forgotten already?"
"Ah, no! I remember," I said, my heart swelling. She still had them! "But haven't they died by now?"
"Well, yes, but I didn't let them wither," she explained. "When they were starting to dry up, I hung them upside down on the windowsill. They dried, of course, but because they were upside down they dried nicely and didn't droop, so I can put them in a dry vase and display them. Mr. Y thought they were wonderful." A bright spot of pink appeared on each of her cheeks. "Roses are Mr. Y's favorite flower, too."
I felt a bit betrayed, even though I didn't have much of a right. "Are they? I'm glad," I answered mechanically.
For a while, there was silence, and then Ariel said, reluctantly, as though someone were forcing her:
"I've been thinking about what you said at lunch."
My heart jumped with nervousness. I couldn't discern by her tone how she felt about it.
"Don't look so frightened," she added quickly, grabbing my hands just the way she did earlier, and it comforted me. "I just want to know why you never told me before."
"Same reason as your father," I said honestly. "Didn't want to upset you. But it was even more than that. I thought you would be afraid of me, not want to be around me anymore."
"Ohhh," cooed Ariel in the universal sound that women make when men say something heartfelt. "Oh, Gangle dear. You must really think I'm a rotten person. You can't get rid of me that easily. Don't you know I trust you? Te voglio bene!"
I like you, that's what she said in Italian.
"I'm so glad you trust me, Signorina. But I was afraid that you wouldn't trust me anymore when you found out what a bad man I used to be."
"I believe the key phrase here is used to be," she pointed out. "I can't say I wasn't surprised to find out that you were in the Mafia, but you've turned away from it. You've repented. You don't want to commit crimes anymore, do you?"
"No!"
"Exactly." Brown eyes met green eyes as she gazed deeply at me. "Have I any reason to be afraid of you? Would you ever hurt me?"
"I would never hurt you, Signorina," I said with true conviction.
"So there we go!" she declared, satisfied, but then she settled back onto my shoulder looking a little unsettled. Something was still on her mind. I saw her eyes gaze at the stars, and then drift over to the glowing eyes of the Ayrie.
"Thinking, Miss Sherlock?"
"Yes, Signor Watson." She tried to sound cheerful but only succeeded in sounding pained. "Days like this give one plenty to think about. They make us reorganize priorities."
"You're worried about your father?"
She swallowed and nodded, closing her eyes, and looked away from the Ayrie. "Very worried."
"Did Doctor Lawrence find anything bad out?" I asked. "Something I haven't heard?"
"No, he's just trying to find out what's triggering his fits to happen again. He's putting him on this special diet and everything, and now he can't do acts as much. But I think it's Mama."
"Your Mama?"
She nodded and looked sadly at her ring. "Daddy hasn't been the same since she died. Sometimes, right out of nowhere, he'll become so depressed about it, very quickly. I think he feels even worse than he lets on, but he keeps it a secret so I don't worry. Just like this seizure business. Men are so secretive."
It was true, even if I were only able to use myself as an example. But I didn't say that, of course.
"Like Mr. Y!" she used as an example, and then she looked back the Ayrie. Then her eyes shot open. "He… wait! Wait! You came over to America on the same boat as Mr. Y. Does he…know you're from the Mafia?"
"Yes," I said.
"Did he know at the start?" she asked frantically.
"Yes," I said, a bit uncomfortably. Where was she going with this?
"And he wasn't afraid of you?"
"Not at all," I said truthfully. "After all, he said he did bad things too. We were both getting away from a bad past, so we helped each other."
"You don't think…" At this point Ariel jumped up, eyes alight with brilliance. "You don't think Mr. Y is from the Mafia too, do you?"
I almost laughed, but I strangled it into a smile. "No, Signorina. The Mafia is Italian, not French. Another name for it is Cosa Nostra, and that's Italian. Even the American Mafia was Italians in it. There is no French Mafia."
She sunk back into her seat, deflated. "Oh. Then…why was he running from France? Oh, this is confusing. There's so much that confuses me! It's too much."
"Look at the stars and forget for a while, Signorina," I offered, letting her into one of my most cherished customs. I know she would not laugh at me. "Pretend your mind is one big starry sky. You'll feel better. Here, put your head down and let it all unwind. Leave behind all the hurt and confusion. It's good for you. I will even shut up so you can concentrate."
"Can't very well pass up that offer," she chuckled. "My dear Gangle!"
It took her some time to really calm down and empty her mind, but at length she rested, and I cherished what little time I had her, even this indirectly, to myself. And so it was that Act Two: Gangle's Night was an enjoyable end to the show.
(Gangle ends the story here for now.)
The hour was up. A grateful exchange of goodbyes, and then the two men were back in Brooklyn. Rodger had places to be, and so Mr. Whittington walked home alone, and upon his arrival back he was enthusiastically received by Miss Fleck.
"I was just setting out something nice for me to wear," she explained, gesturing to some clothes lying on the couch. "Tomorrow is Sunday! I get to see him in the flesh!"
"Ha! I almost forgot about that," admitted Mr. Whittington.
"I never forget. Until recently, it's all I had to look forward to. Tomorrow you can look at Daddy's journal and my old things while I'm off shooting the breeze with my beloved Signor. Until then, sit down and eat. I made some potato salad for you. Remember that bacon fat? Well, I finally found a use for it. Eat up, eat up!"
NOTES FROM AUTHORESS:
1. I don't anticipate too tremendous of a shift in my schedule, but I am an active church lady/housekeeper/maid, and the holidays are approaching, and about 20 pages of writing a week is a lot to do. In a few weeks, I may need to take a brief but temporary hiatus from writing in order to catch up.
2. Guess what? We are a teensy bit more than 1/3 through "City of Wonders"!
3. Thank you for reading.
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